


I Did Something Bad

by bea_flowers



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_flowers/pseuds/bea_flowers
Summary: Reader is a doctor of science, specializing in environmental studies and zoology, compiling research in the jungle when a familiar face shows up unannounced.
Relationships: James Conrad & Reader, James Conrad/Reader
Kudos: 20





	I Did Something Bad

When the sky darkens and the jungle begins to stir, you know it’s time to pack in. You scramble up the rock ledge to your camp. It’s a modest canvas shelter. You don’t need much, materially speaking, to complete your research.

You light the gas lamp at the shelter entrance, then the one at your workstation, flinging your rucksack full with the day’s field notes underneath.

You step out of your mud-covered boots as you push through the flap into your shelter. You light the inside lamps. Their weak flames cast a golden glow, giving the sparse room a sense of warmth it lacks in daylight.

You turn on the gas burner in your makeshift kitchen area—a simple table, shelf, and six-foot-long kitchen cart—and set your kettle on top of it. You peel off your thick socks and sweat-stained tank, and shimmy out of your trousers.

“You need to improve your security, Doctor.”

You nearly jump out of your skin before you realize who’s spoken.

James Conrad is laid out on the cot against the wall, lounging like some spoiled British housecat. Even in the dim light, you can see his dark T-shirt straining against his chest. His leather holster is strapped around his shoulders and his hiking boots are fastened to his feet.

 _Not this again_ , you think. You swear under your breath.

“Conrad, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?”

Conrad leaps off the bed and moves toward you. He runs the back of his fingers down your bare arm. “At least once more,” he says cheekily.

You watch Conrad slip his holster off his shoulders and toe off his boots, kicking both carelessly aside. Sarcasm drips from your tongue as you say, “Please, make yourself at home.”

“I will, thank you.”

You turn and rummage through your trunk for something to cover up. “Why are you even here?” you ask. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense for a lifetime, _sir_. So, if you’ll please—”

“Oh, _sir_ ,” he sings. “I do like the sound of that coming from your mouth.”

You tug a threadbare T-shirt over your head and ignore his comment. “I thought you were supposed to be back in London.”

“I was.”

“Then why are you here?”

Conrad looms over you, devilish charm radiating from his sculpted form. “I decided not to go home. At least, not yet.”

The implication in his words is not lost on you.

“Doesn’t your _mummy_ miss you?” you mock.

“Oh, I’m sure she does,” he says, “but I think she’d understand if she knew I was here with you.”

Conrad glides his fingertips up the side of your thigh and over your hip, curling his hand around your waist. You swat him away.

“You honestly think that’s going to work on me?”

He bunches your shirt in his fists and pulls you closer. “It has before.”

For a moment, the two of you remember what it was like: your hands, your lips, your skin, your—

The kettle squeals, breaking the spell.

“Before I knew better,” you huff and break free. He follows you and grabs two mugs off the shelf. You take them from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he chirps. You drop a teabag into each mug. “You always were a tea drinker. Never considered something stronger? I’ve found whiskey can be exceptionally helpful in lowering inhibitions—"

“If you don’t want any,” you interrupt, “you don’t have to have any.”

“I never said that, Doctor,” he objects, “What is it tonight? Earl Grey? Oolong? Sleepy-time?”

“Not to mention,” you continue, “the fact that you are an unwelcome guest—no, not a guest, an intruder. You’re an intruder and I’m offering you tea.”

“You always were hospitable.”

You snap your fingers in front of Conrad’s wandering eyes. “Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re not going to behave, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Conrad sidles up to you while you fill the mugs. He pouts. “I’m sorry. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

You scoff, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Conrad reaches out for you, but you occupy his hand with a warm mug instead. You snicker at the look of bewilderment on his usually confident face. He regains composure quickly, easily slinking back into his irritatingly seductive bravado, the look garnished with a crooked smirk.

“To good behavior,” Conrad toasts.

“To broken promises,” you counter. You clink mugs. Your stare lingers on Conrad’s lips, and his on yours. A blush blooms on your cheeks and you look away. You clear your throat and stammer, “Too hot to drink. And it needs to steep.”

Conrad places his mug down on the cart. “I’m sure we can think of something to do while we wait.” His eyes glimmer in the lamplight.

You cock your head to the side and glower at him, “I thought you were going to behave yourself.”

“Maybe you should make me.”

Conrad coils his arm around your waist and draws you into his chest. He takes the mug from your hand and puts it down beside his. Your body molds to his instinctively, falling into the familiar planes of his body, the lines and ridges you’d memorized over the months you’d been together.

Conrad hooks his forefinger under your chin and lifts your gaze. His eyes flash from yours, down to your lips, and back up again. He inches closer. His hot breath fans over your face.

You take a shuddering breath. The beginnings of his beard scratch your cheek as he dips his head into the curve of your shoulder. The scent of fresh cotton and damp jungle air wafts into his nose. He places a tender kiss beneath your jaw.

A small whine escapes you. Conrad’s wanton groan rumbles in the hollow of your throat as his kisses grow more insistent. He pulls back to study your flushed face. Then, he brings his grinning lips to your ear and whispers, “I knew you missed this as much as I did.”

The haze dissipates. You shove Conrad away and stumble back.

“You bastard!”

“Oh, come now,” Conrad pleads, “we were having such a nice time.”

You move to the opposite side of the cart and plant your hands on the surface. “ _You_ were having a nice time. _I_ was about to make a horrible mistake. Again!”

“I have to say, Doctor, all this talk about me being a mistake is starting to hurt my feelings,” says Conrad. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” You bark a laugh. “We were never friends.”

“Never friends?” Conrad rounds the cart and pins you between it and himself. “I daresay, strangers don’t fuck like we used to.”

Your mouth hardens into a straight line. You put your palms on Conrad’s chest, with every intention of shoving him away, but the momentum does not come. Instead, you find yourself drawing him closer.

Your mugs clatter to the floor when your lips meet. The world strips away and all that remains is the familiar feeling of your bodies together. Conrad dips his hands under the tail of your top and paws urgently at your bare skin.

You release your grip on Conrad’s shirt to hook a hand around the back of his head and tangle your fingers in his hair. You clamp your other over Conrad’s bicep and squeeze the bulging muscle, feeling it tense and relax. He still smells like peppercorn and tobacco, spice and comfort.

You move in a dangerous tango. Tongues trace the seams of mouths. Teeth nip at bottom lips. Hands study curves and angles thought to be long forgotten.

Conrad snakes his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifts you onto the kitchen cart, positioning himself between your legs. He places his hands on either side of your face so he can dominate the kiss.

You grapple with Conrad’s shirt. He breaks from you to yank it over his head and toss it aside, unconcerned with where it ends up. He swiftly brings his face back to yours.

You re-familiarize yourself with the defined lines of his bare chest. Conrad groans into your mouth. Every fiber of his being smolders beneath your roaming hands. A forceful determination sparks in him. He tears your T-shirt down the middle, from neckline to hem.

You gasp. Conrad rids you of the tattered fabric. He bites into your shoulder. You yelp at the sharp pain and rake your nails down his back. The corners of Conrad’s lips curl at your reaction. He moves his mouth up the curve of your neck, leaving a chain of bite marks in his wake. You grasp the back of his head to hold him in place.

Conrad wraps his palm around your ribs and slides his hand down your side. He skims his fingertips across the waistband of your underwear, from hip to navel. A chill shoots up your spine when he dips below the band. He brushes the pads of his fingers over your clit.

Your eyes snap open.

_What are you doing?_

You yank Conrad back by the hair and shove him away. His hands leave your body instantly. He holds them up, palms out, in surrender.

“What are we doing?” You struggle to catch your breath. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he asks earnestly.

You consider the question. Looking at his heaving chest, the sheen of sweat outlining the muscles, you can’t remember why you pushed him away in the first place.

“It’s bad,” you manage. “We’re bad.”

Keeping his sight trained on yours, he runs his hands from your ankles to the backs of your knees. He settles between your legs again and rubs his thumbs back and forth on your inner thighs.

“If I remember correctly,” he says, “you liked being bad.”

Sense, be damned. You pull him back in, clutching desperately at his back, carving more marks into his tanned skin. He resumes his position and draws circles into your clit. _Fuck_ , you missed this, you missed _him_.

“Oh, god, Conrad,” you whine.

His lips brush against yours and he says, “Say it again.”

“ _Conrad_.”

A growl thunders in the back of his throat and his lips crash against yours. You cry into his mouth when he slides two fingers past your slick folds and curls them inside you. He laughs, a pleased sound, and your arousal skyrockets.

“I have no idea how you could consider something that feels this good to be bad.” He mumbles the words into your neck. “Tell me you want me, tell me you want more. Beg me, Doctor.”

You roll your clit against the heel of his palm. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Conrad obeys, kissing you more fervently. You keep your eyes closed as his lips trail from your mouth to your collar, to your breasts, to your stomach, and to your waistband.

You open your eyes when he removes his fingers from your cunt. Your jaw drops as you watch him lick them clean. A mischievous grin graces his self-satisfied face as he rips your underwear from your body and buries his head between your thighs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, urging him on. He flicks the tip of his tongue lightly against your sensitive clit before sucking it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. His long fingers slide in again smoothly, and he beckons you closer to climax with their firm yet gentle curve.

Any semblance of time or place has left your mind. All that exists is Conrad and the way he’s making you feel. You are deaf to the screams tearing through your throat, to his name rolling off your tongue like a prayer. The only sound you register is the gratified moan Conrad hums into your cunt.

His rumbling voice has you toppling over the edge. You clench and pulse around his fingers as he pleasures you through your orgasm. He doesn’t yield until the aftershocks rippling through your body have stopped. You slump forward, your limp arms and legs tingling.

Conrad stands and brings his face to yours.

“Taste yourself, Doctor.”

Conrad cradles the back of your head as he kisses you. He is an anchor, tethering you to reality, keeping you upright as you struggle to regain control of your limbs. You fight through the satiation, the exhausted bliss, and link your arms around his neck.

You revel in the numbness that prickles across your lips as you trail your mouth across the growing beard along his square jaw. You cover his neck and upper chest in open-mouthed kisses and long swipes of your tongue, painting morse code onto his body.

Conrad’s breathing is ragged as he fumbles with the clasp of your bra, eventually yanking it from your body and flinging it across the room. He kneads your curves roughly, grasping blindly at any part of you he can get his hands on. His bruising grip is evidence of the pleasure you’re bringing him.

You graze your fingertips down his shuddering abdomen. His leather belt snaps as you whip it from his belt loops. Conrad helps you unbutton his jeans, and slides them down his muscular thighs.

You play with the elastic band of his briefs, mimicking his actions from earlier, teasing him as he teased you. An animalistic sound echoes in his chest when you finally wrap your palm around his throbbing cock.

Conrad gives no warning before, in one swift motion, he takes off his briefs, steps out of his jeans, and hitches your legs around his waist. He climbs onto the kitchen cart and, subsequently, on top of you. He ducks his head below your chin and adds to his chain of bite marks already peppered across your chest.

You follow the raised marks you dug into the ridges and valleys of his shoulder blades. The ropes of muscle in his back writhe over and under one another, charting his desire, cataloguing his passion and need.

Your palm slithers over his shoulder and down his chest. Your fingers are feather-light as you map the lines of his body, applying the least amount of pressure when you reach the V-shaped dip past his navel. You explore every inch of his pelvis except for his cock.

Conrad trembles under the unforgiving lightness of your touch. An impatient roar tears through his throat. He sinks his teeth deep into your shoulder, drawing blood. You stab your nails into his back in response and a pained snarl seeps between his clenched teeth.

Conrad’s demeanor switches as something is unleashed within him—a wild animal freed. Dominance darkens his face. It emphasizes the striking angles of his cheekbones, the heavy shadow of his brow, the steep slope of his nose, and the sharp cut of his jaw.

_He is the predator now. And you are the prey._

Conrad’s tone deepens. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

You gulp. “Yes, Conrad.”

He pulls your earlobe through his teeth.

“You better start behaving, then.”

Conrad curls your hand around his shaft and starts pumping at the rhythm he wants. His eyes flutter closed and he nods as you learn the pace. He removes his hand, expecting you to continue as instructed. You do.

You play with the tightness of your grip, watching his face intently to gauge his enjoyment. He grunts and moans in your grasp. With his face nuzzled between your breasts, the sound reverberates through your body.

Conrad raises his lust-filled glare. “Are you going to behave for me now?”

You nod.

“Use your words, Doctor.”

“Yes, Conrad.”

Conrad enters you. He starts slow and deep, scanning your body for every reaction with each thrust he delivers. He still knows your body like his own, possibly better than you do. You curse yourself for even thinking of denying yourself this, of denying yourself him.

You cling to the nape of his neck for stability as he hastens his pace, and knot his hair between your fingers. Conrad growls when you tug on the strands. He balances on one arm so he can wrap his palm around your neck. He squeezes.

The pressure is light, but his control over you is not.

“I thought you were going to behave.”

You gulp under Conrad’s palm. He removes it and coils it around the back of your thigh instead. He shifts the position of your hip slightly. The small adjustment is enough to pull a moan from deep in your chest.

Your hands move to his hair instinctively. He sits back on his heels and catches your wrists before you make contact. You whimper at the sudden emptiness you feel between your shaking legs.

Conrad pins your hands above your head, caging you in, trapping you beneath him.

“Behave,” he orders.

His stubble scratches your cheek when he brings his lips to your ear and whispers:

“I won’t tell you again.”

Conrad grunts into your shoulder as he drives his cock into you; harder, faster, rougher. A slew of expletives spill from your mouth. You roll your pelvis greedily against his, desperate for more—more friction, more contact, more pleasure.

He slows and focuses on grinding against you. His body ebbs and flows like a hurricane, intent on devastating you from the inside out, claiming your body as his own. You see the storm raging behind his eyes when he lifts his head and meets your gaze again.

“Don’t move.”

Conrad releases your wrists, but you don’t dare disobey; your hands stay in place. Conrad’s fingers travel languidly down your stomach. He paints a trail of goosebumps onto your skin. You shiver under his tempting touch, screwing your eyes shut, begging your body to remain still.

Conrad chuckles softly, casually watching you struggle. His fingers ghost over the crease between your hip and inner thigh, treacherously close to where you crave him most. You try to catch the restive whimpers behind your teeth before they reach Conrad’s eager ears, but ultimately fail when he lightly brushes your clit.

You don’t realize he stopped moving inside you until he starts again. He keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizingly slow.

Breathlessly, you beg, “ _Please_.”

Conrad kisses you and you open your eyes. “Please what?”

“Please,” you say, “make me yours.”

Conrad’s lips brush against yours as he murmurs, “Well, since asked so nicely…”

Conrad finally rubs your clit. He moves lazily, concentrating on pressure rather than speed. Like kindling to a flame, you burn for him. His touch consumes you, every nerve popping like an ember in a roaring wildfire. Each kiss he brands into your skin flickers like the flames in the gas lamps around you.

You barely hear his command over your moaning: “Touch me.”

You drag his face to yours and give him a taste of the fire he’s ignited in you. Your kiss reawakens the beast and he thrusts with all the strength he has. You bask in how ruthlessly he shoves his cock into you. He is uncaged and wild.

Conrad rubs your clit faster and faster, frantically. You claw at his arms, his chest, his back. The coil in your stomach tightens, close to snapping. Your breath quickens. Your heart pounds. Blood rushes in your ears.

“I’m going to come, Conrad,” you wail. “Please, let me come.”

Conrad stamps a wet kiss onto the hollow of your throat. His voice is gravelly and hoarse as he grants permission:

“Come for me, Doctor.”

Pleasure swells within you, crashing in a wave of wide-eyed clarity. You scream, sob for him, thanking him for all he has given you. Conrad fucks you through your high, never slowing, luring you further into your demise.

Your muscles seize and release like the snap of a rubber band, and you melt into the kitchen cart. Your chest heaves as you gasp for air. You stare into Conrad’s smug face through your heavy eyelids.

Conrad grins wickedly. “I told you: something that feels this good could never be bad.”


End file.
